Slaughter Without Laugher
by Bleedred
Summary: America doesn't understand why Russia does not laugh at his jokes. Rated T for language. Non-pairing fic, and further warnings inside at the top of the document. Footnotes also given.


**Slaughter Without Laughter**

by Bleedred

Last updated: November 11th, 2011

Warnings:

Russia being a mostly normal being (GASP!), America, human names, accidental violence, potentially dark humor, footnotes, potentially inappropriate humor, non-pairing fic, Russian language bits, cultural references, potential excessive revision, blizzards, use of racial/ideological slurs, excessive use of "bastard" and "fuck", educational and potentially verbose footnotes, some pop culture assumptions

Forward

While studying up on etiquette and proper behaviors for when I have to go to the Russian Federation for part of my education (and possibly future employment), I have found many interesting little nuances in behavior. For instance, it is considered ill-mannered to laugh in public or talk loudly in public, along with slouching, loitering, putting your hands in your pockets or chewing gum. Apparently your business is everyone else's and others will not hesitate to come up to you and tell you that you are doing something wrong. These are just a few things because there are obviously many, many more.

The laughing thing, however, is what I decided had to be played with.

There is no research as of yet because this was based on an etiquette tidbit I found repeatedly. Just look up Russian etiquette and laughing in your preferred search engine.

If some cultural reference has gone over your head, send me a PM and I'll explain it to you as best as I can. I'll also put the explanation in the footnotes of the next revision of the piece.

Lastly, this is not a pairing fic.

As always, read any included footnotes before commenting and enjoy the fic.

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><p><span>Slaughter Without Laughter<span>

There was no way he wasn't funny, no way in hell. Alfred could make anyone laugh, or at least he thought he could... with bad Dane Cook impressions and stolen jokes from Gabriel Iglasias and Russell Peters(1) (No one knew who he was anyway). He never came up with his own material. Why should he when so many people have crafted vast stockpiles of humor that he could just pull hilarious little nuggets from? Besides, everyone he told jokes to, except Matthew (who knew who Russell Peters was), had not really heard of the comedians he ripped off. In the end, he made most everyone laugh... except one person.

"Hm." It was a subdued, almost restrained little acknowledgement of the fact that something had been said. He hated it. Alfred hated that with a passion. How could he not be funny enough to get an actual laugh? Everyone else could be rolling in the aisles, dying of laughter and this overgrown snow ape would just be sitting there with a shot-glass and straight posture only making a small "hm"(2) sound at the end of every gag. In all honesty, Alfred was getting fucking tired of it.

That was really all of the motivation he really needed to hatch the most devious plan known to ma- Alfred. Unfortunately, he had completely forgotten that there were things in his plan he had not, well, planned for. The first of which was blatantly obvious as he shivered in his grey sweatshirt, preparing to knock on the front door of his quarry's home in an affluent St. Petersburg suburb in the middle of winter. As the snow was whipped by his head, he realized that it was not his most brilliant moment when he thought "very cold" meant "cold for pussies but not for heroes".

"Fu-fu-fu-" Alfred shivered as he stretched out his nearly frozen fingers, trying to raise his hand to knock on the heavy wooden door. "IV-V-VAN!" he screeched, before giving up on his hand and just falling forward against the door, hitting his forehead on the wood. "LEM-M-M-ME IN! 'S-S-S C-C-COLD OUT H-HERE, MAN!"

He remembered vaguely thinking, as he began to lose feeling in his extremities while slumped against the door, that Ivan had better fucking be home or he'd find a way to convince his boss to arrange for a nice waterboarding(3) for that commie bastard. "Fu-fu-fuck..." He continued to shiver, regretting his arrogance with the weather. One day he would remember that "very cold" in Russia meant that "bundle up in a shit-ton of furs or die"... One fucking day.

Alfred hardly heard the low whine of the door as it was pulled open or noticed that he was no longer mostly upright until the floor greeted his face. He drew in a sharp hiss, cursing the floor for having the audacity to slap him so and cursing his glasses for being such cowards that they tried to hide underneath the skin of his face.

"Здравствуйте(4), Mr. Jones, how nice of you to visit..."

Well, now Alfred knew who the bastard was that ordered the floor to hit him... even though the floor had not moved and that no other words had come from the Russian's mouth. It was so blatantly obvious!

"Ivan... I hate your house..."

There was silence other than the door closing slowly and cutting off the chilling winds that had whipped up outside so they wouldn't further batter the denizens of the house too badly.

"Always so casual, Mr. Jones," an oddly high-pitched voice said as though he were merely discussing something over a cup of tea. Ivan was always like that though, except when he was upset. He could say the creepiest shit in an even tone with that fake little smile on his face... Was that smile fake though? It was getting really fucking hard to tell. "I told you to call me by my family name or Ivan Nikolayevich(5)... Is more proper, you know that."

Alfred groaned as he propped himself up on his forearm, trying to get back up off of the cold wooden floor.

"Just... sh-shut up..." he wheezed, as he got to his knees, hands clenching up from the pain. Alfred reached up, hand shaking still, and touched his face to feel around for his glasses. He could have sworn he left them on his nose unless they decided to jump ship when he and the floor got better acquainted. No... they were gone. Texas must have just wanted to secede(6) after all of these years. He knew they'd tried to hug his face too tightly a moment earlier, but maybe they just fell off when he sat up.

He squinted, palms flopping about on the floor in search of renegade spectacles until a gentle prod to his shoulder stopped him. Alfred looked up, not that he could really see much and noticed a couple little regions of air that he could see rather clearly next to a large brown blob that may have been a hand.

"Oh, thanks, man," he said, snatching the specs from his host and plopping them back on his nose. He shook his head gently, as though he were trying to banish all of thoughts of being legitimately grateful to that icy bastard for anything. Alfred forced himself to his feet, putting his hands on his back and pushing to crack the vertebrae.

"Was there... something you came here for, Mr. Jones?" Ivan asked, arms crossed in front of his chest. Alfred was finally able to get a good look at the man he'd come to both- visit. Neat sweater, dress pants, scarf, gloves ( It was cold, so he'd let that go... this time. )... He looked relatively normal and respectable. In the back of Alfred's head, for some bizarre reason, he half expected his old enemy sitting around dressed like that mad doctor from Austin Powers when no one was looking, even putting his pinky to his mouth like some retard. Nope. He looked like your average upper-middle class type of guy. "You rarely visit me unless it is something important."

"Uh... yeah, I..." Alfred put his hand behind his head, feeling rather awkward now that he was actually here. What did he come here for again, anyway? Oh, yeah! He was supposed to make this grumpy old bear laugh like a buffoon. Did Arthur ask him to? After another second of silent pondering, he just shook his head. Nope, he'd come here because he'd made it a personal mission! After all, it was good to laugh, so he'd be helping Ivan and he was the hero! Heroes helped people!

Meanwhile, Ivan tilted his head to the side with a somewhat concerned expression when Alfred realized he'd stood there quietly for a minute rationalizing to himself. He giggled awkwardly, feeling like Ivan was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Alfred shook it off, determined to get back to business now that he remembered exactly what his completely heroic business was.

"You, dude," he said, in his best "I'm your best bro" voice. Alfred made his hands like guns with a little snapping sound and pointed the finger-barrels casually at Ivan in a rather... juven- completely mature and cool gesture. "Are in serious need of some laughs! You're so... joyless and bland! Even Ludwig has more fun than you!" Of course, he meant this all in good fun, but the slowly souring expression on his host's face made him think that... he did not quite share the sentiment.

"Mr. Jone-"

The soft reprimand was cut off by a friendly arm draped across his shoulder, with a fist softly bumping knuckles against his other one.

"Now, man, I know what you're gonna say," Alfred interrupted, "You're gonna say that you're happy and don't need my help, but you, dude, need to just... let loose!" The fist became a smooth palm waving out at the air in front of them in a dramatic gesture of "possibilities". It looked so cool in Alfred's head, there was no way Ivan wouldn't be taken aback by the sincerity and purity of Alfred's mission to bring him joy.

Unfortunately, the intended response was not received as the taller man shrugged himself out of Alfred's "buddy-buddy" arm. Taking a few steps back he looked at the American with what could only really be called skepticism, before that smile-like thing came back from its lunch-break. Alfred felt his own face drop a bit as though someone stamped "REJECTED" on the paperwork of his attempt as common ground.

"Well, since you are here," Ivan said, hands clasped politely in front of his chest, "I suppose you would not mind having some tea and sweets then(7)?"

Alfred instinctively leaned away as he heard the offer, contorting his face in almost offended disbelief. "Since when are you all Martha Stuart Betty Crocker like the Iggster(8)?" It was almost scary, the thought of his arch-rival... the spawn and servant of the devil himself offering him tea and cookies like a sweet grandmother... or Arthur... Arthur did that, only with those vaguely scone-like things instead of cookies... Did Ivan even say cookies? He was probably talking about some bastardize commie desserts that symbolized the downfall of freedom! Like Hell was he going to-

"You may not know this, but it is rather rude to turn down hospitality." That fucking smile that went right along with it just made it so much more threatening.

"Fine!" Alfred threw his hands up in the air in mock defeat before shoving them in his pockets sullenly. "If you're gonna throw a bitch fit, I'll join your little tea party..." Of course, insulting the host and being rude were perfectly acceptable ways to accomplish one's goals of making the fucker laugh.

"Очеиь хорошо~(9) This way, please~" Ivan nodded before turning around walking towards a rather grand staircase that was a lot like an apartment building staircase in shape... only nicer looking and much less like it would rot out under his feet. It seemed to go up to a total of three floors, a little walk-way in the middle leading off to the second floor.

"Stop with that commie-speak; you _know_ that I can't understand a word of it beyond 'yes' and 'no'!" Alfred stamped up the stairs after his host, only somewhat trying not to track snowy mud from his sneakers across the cleaned carpet. He was somewhat jealous that he couldn't live in such a nice house, but he let it go as a side effect of not having had many centuries of decadent monarchy.

He kept looking around at everything as he continued to follow Ivan up the stairs... apparently all of the way to the third floor of the building. For all of the elegance, there was hardly any form of decoration anywhere. The house felt... naked almost. It didn't matter though, considering he believed that former communists were recovering minimalists that were slowly figuring out awesome having lots of stuff was. Ivan was probably just slow on the uptake.

Alfred was brought back to attention when Ivan opened a door that led into what he could assume was some sort of "study", which was completely old-fashioned. Alfred just had an office where he did all of his work (I.E. playing computer games) and happened to keep a few of the books he thought were kind of interesting, organized neatly right next to his comic book collection. Yet, Ivan had a whole study filled with books! Alfred blinked as he walked in, sitting down rather clumsily on the couch he was directed to.

"I... didn't know there were even this many books in existence!" That was kind of a lie. He did know about books about things besides American history and comic books existed (Don't forget video game guides!), but he really just could never be bothered to read them. As far as he felt concerned, they didn't exist.

Ivan merely shrugged as he plugged in some sort of metal thing that looked kind of like a vase only... made of metal instead of some pretty ceramic piece painted with flowers. Alfred tilted his head curiously. "Hey, dude, what's that you've got there?"

"It is called 'самовар(10)'. We brew tea in it," he responded, as though it were nothing, and perhaps to him, it was nothing... Alfred scoffed at him. What a smug bastard, assuming everyone knew what the fuck Russians made tea with! He crossed his arms in annoyance, trying to look indignant. He was NOT uncultured whatsoever. Ivan could think whatever he wanted!

"That's kind of cool, I guess, but what is your word for 'tea' anyway?" he asked, feigning curiosity to see if maybe he could find some sort of hook to latch onto and let the jokes flow.

"Чай.(11)"

"Chai-" Alfred tried to repeat it... only to realize a very blatant pun staring him right in the face. It was perfect! "Oh, so for you to say 'chai tea' is redundant, am I right~?" He spread his arms as though he were fishing for some sort of appreciation, which he was... not that he would admit that, of course.

Ivan, however, merely raised an eyebrow as he set down a tray on the coffee table between his own chair and the sofa Alfred was lounging on.

In an attempt to save face, Alfred chuckled awkwardly... which did not help his intended purpose at all. "Yeah, yeah, I know... Puns are way cheap, just like your mo-" A stern glare from the opposition rolled that gag into a shallow grave before the glare was replaced by the grinning face once more.

"Have some snacks," was the latest order as Ivan gestured calmly at the tray with cups, spoons and seemingly edible objects. There was a container of sugar cubes, a jar of jam, some cookies, chocolates and... little rolls of bread covered in powder sugar? Alfred reached out and quickly picked up one of the chocolates, he couldn't go wrong with chocolates. Besides, chewing would give him a chance to think of something else clever to say.

"Sometimes I have to wonder, dude," he said, still chewing the chocolate he only half-swallowed, "did one of your bosses, like, break your funny bone or something?" He smiled, hoping he looked goodhearted and playful, despite the harsh reality that this was just not the case, especially not with a mouth half-full of candy.

Ivan raised his eyebrow slightly as he poured what seemed to be incredibly concentrated tea into the cups before adding hot water to dilute it.

"What is 'funny bo-"

"You know what, dude, never mind. We'll skip that one."

So in this way, they carried on for what seemed like a few hours, drinking tea and eating sweets as though they were old friends... In actuality, when Alfred checked his watch, it had only been forty-five minutes. He had continued to toss out puns and wordplay throughout the entire conversation, every single one failing to make a dent on his quarry's sense of humor. By the slowly darkening look on his face though, it became abundantly clear to Alfred that his words caused massive casualties to Ivan's patience, something he was not known to have in vast quantities to begin with.

"Hey, how about this one? In Soviet Ru-"

"You do not want to finish that, Mr. Jones."

Alfred quickly shut his mouth and bit his lip at the harsh words. He felt like the temperature of the room dropped several degrees and even drinking the cup of hot tea in his hands wouldn't warm him back up. Ivan hadn't even yelled at him! Then again, he began to wonder, did he really need to?

He straightened up on the couch, as over time he'd gradually laid down on it with his feet either in the air or on the cushions. He dropped his feet to the floor since he'd developed this gross, sinking feeling that he was wearing out his welcome... like someone made him swallow frozen dish soap. Alfred could save the situation; he was the hero after all! The only problem was the increasingly tense glare being aimed at him over a seemingly innocuous cup of tea.

With a deep breath, he put his palms on own knees and carefully nodded. He was running out of material and couldn't keep pulling the puns out of thin air, especially since Ivan really did not respond to any of them in a favorable manner.

"Dude, I'm really trying here! Maybe if you just weren't such a com-"

Ivan sharply raised a hand towards him, signaling... something. He probably wanted to interject some stupid statement. Alfred clapped his jaw shut mid-word spew, wondering what more could possibly be said. He rather hoped he'd touched a nerve and now the bastard would claim a desire for repentance of his commie-bastard ways by suddenly understanding Alfred's poorly constructed stand-up routine, but he was seriously doubting this.

"You are starting to grate on my nerves~" Oh God! He was still fucking smiling a mile a goddamn minute! How could he do that all damn day almost regardless of the current situation? Was he just... happy all of the time? Was his face stuck like that? Alfred felt the sudden urge to just jump across the coffee table, grab the corners of the snow ape's mouth and yank them down into a frown just to see what he would look like for a change. However, before Alfred could do that or even think of a retort, said 'snow ape' continued. "I think you should probably leave. I will escort you to door."

Almost dumbstruck, Alfred nodded in a somewhat dopey manner as he stood up, following Ivan towards the door of the study. His mind was completely blank for a few moments. He was being essentially thrown out into the blizzard without literally being thrown out into it. The only difference was Ivan hadn't actually grabbed him to haul him off... Well, that, and the words were far less... angry sounding... unless that was Ivan's angry voice, which was creepily similar to his normal voice.

However, near the top of the staircase, Alfred remembered himself, giving his head a thorough shaking. Had he just failed his mission? Really? He'd just lost? But... he'd tried so hard, how could this be? Alfred stamped his foot down on the landing and turned to point at Ivan. That commie bastard could not have the last word on this, there was no way!

"Man, you're fucking impossible!" With an over-exaggerated flourish, Alfred turned around to head down the stairs. He would never admit to it that he'd been defeated in his endevour, but inside he knew that he had failed to make Ivan laugh. It just wasn't going to happen, he thought, trying his best to look angry and yet heroic as he walked away. Unfortunately, he had not really paid close attention to where his feet landed.

THUMP! Th-th-th-th-thump!

He didn't have time to notice Ivan intially cringing as Alfred slipped from that first step. He did, though, vaguely hear a snort but his mind was pre-occupied with the pain wracking his body wherever it was unfortunate enough to hit the steps and railings on the way down the spiral staircase. Every pause in the fall was punctuated with yelps and "oof"s accompanied by many a colorful expletive cursing everthing from God and the universe to that stairs he was falling down and Ivan himself. Every step loomed in pained slow motion as it came up to smack him and bounce him up in the air like he was a goddamn kickball.

The worst part was when he reached a landing near the bottom and was launched completely off of the staircase by his own momentum. He smashed, face-first, into the ground the equivalent of three stories below where he had taken that first ill-fated step.

Alfred groaned as he laid on the ground, splayed in a position that told him something or somethings had been broken on the way down... not to mention the glasses he'd heard shatter not long after he felt them fly from his face. Of course it hurt like hell, but at least he wasn't dead. He should have been dead, but... well, immortality saved his sorry ass once again. Now, he had to wait for someone to collect him, take him to the hospital and get things properly realigned before they healed funny.

He sighed heavily, eyes watering from the pain. The only one around was Ivan and they weren't really friends. It wasn't like he could count on that ice-hearted bastard to come down and help him. He was too busy just- What was he doing anyway? Alfred couldn't really turn his head to look back up but he already had his head sideways so he could try to guess, even with his now horribly near-sighted vision.

No sight of Ivan up there on the landing. Of course, he'd already walked away. No... wait... Alfred strained to hear at first, but the sounds soon came in loud and clear. There was a rythmic smacking sound, like someone was pounding their fist on the landing. There was also a harsh, obnoxiously loud "ha" that kept repeating. That meant... Ivan was laughing... and not just laughing, he was laughing his ass off. Alfred groaned, of course hurting himself... badly, would be what cracked his frozen composure. That creep.

He whined a bit, trying to at least right himself somewhat, broken limbs deciding to completely ignore his orders. Alfred squeezed his eyes together to deal with the sharp throbs the ran through his nerves with every pulse.

"Fu..." He exhaled heavily. "Fuck... you, Rus-" Alfred quickly hushed himself as he saw the giant blurred blob that he assumed was Ivan pull himself up by the railing of the stairs, still giggling and seemingly trying to regain composure. Well, that was certainly a sight to see (or kind of vaguely see as the case was)... Ivan laughing so hard he had to use something to support himself. He raised what looked like a hand, possibly signaling to wait a second because he was still unable to talk properly. Fine, Alfred would stay quiet, but that didn't mean he wasn't going glare daggers anyway, even if he couldn't aim them very well.

Panting somewhat, the giggling blob had contained enough of his chuckles to attempt speech once more. "I am... sorry," he said, "How ill-mannered... of me." The panting came in ever diminishing volumes as the blob practically leaned on the railing for support. "That was... absolutely hilarious!" It looked like he may have been red in the face, but Alfred could not be sure without his specs. Even unintentionally, the now injured Alfred must have given his old rival a serious case of the jollies.

"I hat-"

"I could not contain it." The apparent coolness in his tone meant at least now he'd calmed down enough to be his normal self. Great, just great, now he was going to have to deal with the whole "unfriendly aquaintance" thing again while in a broken pile of Alfred at the bottom of the stairs. "You showed _yourself_ Kuzma's mother.(12)"

"What? Will you jus-"

"One moment." Curt, ever curt. Alfred hated that word, but that was the best word to describe how Ivan had always spoken to him. No wonder the bastard didn't have any friends, keeping everyone at a formal distance. He still had no idea what Ivan intended to do in "one moment", considering explaining himself was clearly never on the polar bear's list of things to do when dealing with others.

Alfred groaned and lay back on ground, which wasn't much of a change considering he'd already gotten any progress in picking himself up. At least he could lie there in his agony without hearing anyone scold him. Arthur would have scolded him had he seen that cacophony of horrid clumsiness. His older brother would have just picked up his pieces, put them in a hand-basket and taken him to the hospital, saying they were going to hell. Luckily, Ivan was quiet about the whole thing... so quiet, he didn't hear him show up on the ground floor until Alfred felt himself hoisted into the air.

"You broke yourself, Mr. Jones..."

"Shut up."

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><p><span>Footnotes<span>

1. Russell Peters is a popular Canadian comedian of Indian descent who makes fun of everyone. He is especially well-known for the segments about beating your children. It was assumed that most English speaking readers know Gabriel Iglasias (a family friendly American comedian of Latino descent who is best known for "fluffy not fat" jokes) and Dane Cook (an very popular American comedian whose humor is aimed at more mature audiences). However, not as many people know Russell Peters.

2. This sound was arbitrarily picked to be the non-laughing response until research shows otherwise.

3. Waterboarding is a torture technique used to simulate the experience of drowning. The United States government wholeheartedly denies they have ever done such a thing, despite testimonies from military members that have claimed to have been involved in such acts in a sanctioned manner at Guantonamo Bay. Whether any of this is true or not is still up for debate, and is still very controversial.

4. Здравствуйте (_zdravst_-vuy-tye) - "Hello!" Without practice and help from a native speaker, you may have difficulty pronouncing that word, but once you get it down, it's fun to say. Normally this is used formally, with people you do not know, teachers, superiors in some manner (your boss, leaders of some sort, etc.). It's also generally only said to any given person once a day. If you say it twice to the same person in one day, they'll like be confused. Formal speech can also be used to distance yourself from another person and kind of tell them without telling them that you are not interested in being their friend. It's one of those context things. Have fun trying to say it!

5. Nikolayevich is a Russian male patronymic based on the father's given name, in this case: Nikolai. I have just used this name for Russia's father whenever it becomes important and it was picked arbitrarily. It also proper to address people that you have just met and remain on a formal level with by their given name and their patronymic. I assumed Russia would allow use of "Mr. Braginsky" as many Westerns cultures, such as the American culture use such a convention. It does occur in Russia as well, but to a lesser extent. The given name and patronymic is more common.

I also assumed that Russia would get away with being a bit more blunt with America than he would with most other people. If he talked that way to his boss, he'd be in massive trouble.

6. Before joining the Union, Texas had once been its own country for a short period of time after it gained independence from Mexico in 1836. It lasted for ten years and was known as the Republic of Texas.

7. Russians are very hospitable when you are in their home. They will likely try to feed you, give you things to drink, etc. Tea is very popular, especially black teas. They also are known for a cultural sweet tooth with their teas. Some even put jam in the tea to make it sweeter.

8. Betty Crocker and Martha Stuart are names used to describe home-makers. Martha Stuart is an actual woman while Betty Crocker is best known as a brand of items and not a real person at all, but more of a symbol. "Iggster" is just a lame nickname for England, meant to completely bastardize the use of "Iggy".

9. Очеиь хорошо (_Oh_-chen kha-ruh-_sho_) - "Very good." The 'n' is palatalized, not that that is actually useful to you. The "kh" is that phlegmatic sound you make with you say "Bach".

10. самоваp (sah-muh-_vahr_) - "Samovar" It is a specialized water boiling device, commonly associated with tea-drinking. They come in different shapes and sizes, but tend to look like elaborate metal vases. To get a better idea, google "Samovar."

11. Чай (chai) - "Tea"

12. There is a Russian idiom, which technically means you're going to beat someone up, but it translates roughly to "showing someone Kuzma's mother." If I say, that I am going to show you Kuzma's mother, I am saying that I am going to kick the crap out of you. It seemed to have originated with former Soviet leader, Nikita Khrushchev, known for having said some rather interesting things and beating his shoe on a desk.

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><p><span>Bibliography<span>

Ha, there isn't one~ You may return your village and crops, good people, the dragon has been slain!


End file.
